Bruce felt his pulse quicken. He spun around, but the big guy in the Armani suit was nowhere in sight. Had he really seen the same man?

Probably not, but there was no reason to take chances. He left the hotel by the back entrance and walked toward the subway. He purchased a token, took the train down to Fourteenth Street, switched to the A train to Forty-second Street, cut cross town on the 7 train, jumping off the car seconds before the doors closed at Third Avenue. He changed trains haphazardly for another half an hour, jumping on or off at the last possible second each time, before ending up on Fifty-sixth Street and Eighth Avenue. Then

"John Benson" walked a few blocks and checked into the Days Inn, a hotel where Dr. Bruce Grey had never stayed.

When he got up to his room on the eleventh floor, he locked the door and slid the chain into place.

Now what?

A phone call was risky, but Bruce decided to take the chance.

He would speak to Harvey for only a few moments, then hang up. He picked up the phone and dialed his partner's home phone.

Harvey answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Harvey, it's me."

"Bruce?" Harvey sounded surprised.

"How's everything in Cancun?".

Bruce ignored the question.

"I need to speak to you."

"Christ, you sound awful. What's wrong?"

Bruce closed his eyes.

"Not over the phone."

"What are you talking about?" Harvey asked.

"Are you still?"

"Not over the phone," he repeated, "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What the hell is going?"

"Don't ask me any more questions.

"I'll meet you tomorrow morning at six-thirty."

"Where?"

"At the clinic."

"Jesus, are you in danger? Is this about the murders?"

"I can't talk any mo " Click.

Bruce froze. There was a noise at his door.